


Some Help

by Riehlla



Category: Overlord - Maruyama Kugane & Related Fandoms
Genre: Also some dick, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fantasy AU, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Lonely Reader, Orc!Gazef, Threats of Violence, Werewolves, Witch!Reader, crude language, even though overlord is fantasy lmfao, from the generic humans, generic fantasy racism, she just wants a friend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28628061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riehlla/pseuds/Riehlla
Summary: After being chased through the forest by some werewolves, witch!Rea finds herself in front of an orc’s cave. He’s nice enough to offer some help, and she gladly accepts. But Rea very quickly realizes that this orc—Gazef is his name—is really attractive. What’s a not-quite-blushing, very lonely virgin to do when faced with this dilemma? Obviously, she’s going to fuck Gazef. It’s just a matter of when.Please join us on this terribly self-indulgent adventure: Some Help; Or, I really like monsters and coming up with monster AUs for my favorite husbandos.Fantasy / Orc AU
Relationships: Gazef Stronoff/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	1. In which Our MC Meets Her Orcish Love Interest

**Author's Note:**

> Am I done with the other Gazef fic?  
> No.  
> Am I an asshole?  
> Totes.  
> In all seriousness, I have had the biggest block any time I try to write the finale. It’s just more porn, but it’s more on the ‘nilla side, and I’m currently incapable of writing vanilla. So enjoy orc Gazef, witch Rea, and their shenanigans! I’ll get to the other fic at some point.

Your feet pounded into the ground. You had to move! 

Faster, faster, _faster_.

Forcing in a deep breath, you filled your lungs, the muscles surrounding your ribs screaming from lactic acid and quickly-forming bruises.

It was not enough.

Turning around for just a moment, you threw a spark of energy at the wolves following you in hot pursuit. But they were not just simple wolves, much like you were not a simple, human woman. The three wolven forms split up momentarily and ran around the blast of fire that you didn’t have time to watch as it uselessly hit the ground. Instead, you looked forward to scout out ahead of you before you fucking killed yourself by running off the side of a cliff. Unfortunately, your head turned too late. 

You bounced off a tree and cried out as bark dug into skin, scraping and scratching at your poor arm.

From behind, the wolves howled as the scent of blood egged their frenzy on further.

But you kept going. You _had_ to keep going. Otherwise, you might as well have just laid down and let them tear you apart. Piece by piece. Just another kill.

Running with one last, desperate burst of energy, you ignored your burning muscles and burning lungs. You ignored the pain in your feet as you ran over roots and rocks and sticks in nothing more than slippers.

You were no fool. You knew that the wolves were catching up with every moment that you kept running.

Hot and angry tears ran down your cheeks along with salty sweat.

Turning around for just another moment, you threw another fireball in their direction. You heard the wolves growl and snap in the distance, but there was no heavy thud of a body, no whimpers of pain. Again, you just wasted your precious mana. 

But there! In the distance! You allowed a sob to pass your lips at the immense relief you felt. 

You saw a cave entrance with _light_ coming out of it.

Trying to scream for help, you opened your mouth, but the word that came out of it was not “Help!”

You cursed your exhausted and overworked lungs, but you could do nothing but release sounds reminiscent of someone drowning: all huffs and puffs and desperate gulps of air.

Then, you slipped. Your feet, relieved of their arduous task, turned to jelly as you collapsed in a pile of limbs. However, this pile of limbs made a lot of noise in its descent to the cold and dead-leaf-covered ground.

The wolves skidded to their own stop, some five feet from you. Though they watched you with hungry eyes, they looked cautious: ears flattened, eyes narrowed, and shoulders hunched.

“Help!” you croaked from your place on the ground, but you did not move. The bastards that had chased you were wary about invading the territory of whoever resided in the cave in front of which you had so conveniently collapsed. However, you weren’t sure that it was too great of an idea to meet the person—thing?—that frightened those wolves so.

You heard the steps before you saw the body that made them. They were heavy.

A form exited the cave entrance—a barely clothed one, even in the chilly, fall air. All you could see was a pair of roughspun pants and a naked, broad back that split into a pair of green, well-muscled arms. From your position on the ground, you could not see what kind of face belonged atop this form. But you did see that the wolves hunched forward more and whined rather pitifully.

“I thought I said to stay out of my territory,” a low voice growled.

The middle wolf—one with a yellow eye and a milky, unseeing white eye—snapped and then promptly turned on its heels. Shortly thereafter, the two others followed. You wondered if, maybe, the owner of the cave had divested that wolf of half its sight.

You breathed a sigh of relief.

The form then turned to you. Though a scowl remained on his wide, heavy lips, he did not look like he was about to kill and then eat you, which already put him higher than the wolves on your list of preferable companions. His nose moved. Then he just frowned, his lips curling around the tusks protruding from his lower jaw in fascinating ways.

Though he seemed reluctant to speak, after another few moments, he opened his mouth. “Do you need help, witch?” the orc asked.

“Yes, please,” you responded politely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My shit writing accounts for the majority of the Gazef Stronoff/Reader tag. I will personally populate it if I have to. 😤😤😤


	2. Potatoes Made of Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double feature! What a way to begin a fic! This momentum cannot possible run out! 😂😂😂

Laying on a pile of impressively clean and decidedly not-musty furs stacked on top of many, many hay bales, you tried not to think about _just_ how much pain you were currently experiencing. Unfortunately, the answer to the question you didn’t want answered was “quite a bit.” You had briefly looked over your injuries and concluded that they were nothing more than a very annoying inconvenience, but you were definitely going to be very upset until your mana replenished enough to heal yourself.

Though you were no sedentary sack of slugs, you were not exactly the most athletic of witches. You were accustomed to long treks up hills and along rivers in search of herbs and roots, but you never ran. The thought of participating in such an activity for recreational purposes was quite beyond your comprehension. Perhaps, if you had often engaged in running, then you might not have completely destroyed your legs. However, outrunning werewolves on regular, human legs would have been quite the tall order, even for someone who was more athletic than you.

As you considered your plight, you looked over to your savior, who sat in front of the fire above which a pot was currently suspended. You could only see his back. In the relatively well-lit (by candlelight and fire) cave, you could see the pale green lines and patches of discolored skin along the expanse of his back and his arms. This orc must have seen quite a few fights to be so covered in scars.

The fire crackled and spit as he pushed around the contents of the pot with a long, slightly misshapen, wooden spoon. Whatever he had cooking in there smelled delightful. Your stomach growled rather loudly at the reminder that you were actually incredibly hungry after your brush with death.

The orc looked over his shoulder at the noise your stomach made.

“Sorry,” you said.

He shrugged. “A body’s a body. It’ll make sounds. And it sounds like yours needs to eat.”

“I don’t usually exert myself so much, no.” You tried to sit up and then quickly remembered that your left arm had been brutally bashed into a tree by the momentum of your body—what a traitor. With a pathetic whimper, you dropped onto your back and rolled slightly to your right as you cradled your left arm to your chest.

The orc sighed and huffed. “Rest, witch. You might hurt yourself more.”

You wanted to argue. You really did. But he was right. “I have the last of the ointment that my mother made in my home. If I could just get over there, then I’ll heal in no time,” you said.

“That’s a foolish idea.”

“My cat is there all alone!”

“And how do you propose to get back there? Walk? With the darkness only settling down for the night and your entire body battered and bruised?”

You pouted in response to his silly logic.

He looked at you. “Cats are resourceful. I’m sure it can hunt up its own dinner.”

You just started pouting more, your lower lip jutting out from your mouth in an obnoxious manner. 

“Eat. Then sleep. The path will be hard enough in the morning, if you wish to take it then.”

With a sigh, you relaxed. “Okay.”

The two of you returned to your earlier silence. You were surprised by how comfortable it was, despite your being alone in a cave with a man that you didn’t know at all, after almost being eaten by wolves. And, the longer you lay there, the more you realized just how much you missed being around others. When your mother died almost nine months back, you thought that you would be alone for a long time. Sure, the people from the nearby village would visit you to ask for help when someone was injured or request some sort of remedy for an illness, but they never lingered, too scared of the local _witch_ to interact with you more than necessary. You never minded peace. But the silence was difficult. Finding a little kitten—black as night with big, blue eyes—had helped, but you missed just talking with someone.

The sound of your accidental companion standing and moving the pot from its place above the fire drew your attention. You watched him take hold of what was surely hot metal with his bare hands to move it to the outcropping of stone that looked unnaturally flat. Considering its proximity to the fire pit, he must have fashioned it himself to have a surface for food preparation. You took another look around the cave. It was surprisingly cozy. The area where he made his home was just a room in a larger cave system, but the ceiling above the makeshift kitchen was much higher than the area where you currently lay, making it ideal for venting smoke and food smells. You wondered how high it went. Considering the fact that the orc had not killed himself yet, you were willing to bet that it was rather tall, if not somehow open to the air. You wished that you could stand and examine the cave.

After a few moments of rifling through some sort of unseen storage containers, your acquaintance brought out two earthen bowls and two relatively small, wooden spoons, at least compared to the one he had been using. Then he poured both of you a hearty helping of stew. You watched the steam wafting off the food with great interest while he frowned and considered you.

“Do you think you can sit up?” he asked.

You frowned and then attempted to raise your body from a prone position with the help of your right hand. Every part of you creaked and protested, but you were far more interested in the stew. When you were vertical, the orc offered a big hand to you. You gladly took it, allowing him to gently haul you to your feet. Though you winced slightly at the pull of your chest muscles, of whose existence you were currently terribly aware, you were grateful, especially when he carefully led you over to the two stump-sized drums of wood topped with fur that sat in front of the flat outcropping of rock.

“Thank you,” you said, looking at his face. 

He just shrugged—rather modest.

“Really. For everything. You saved my life,” you said quietly. You glanced down to the stew. Within the caramel liquid were great chunks of browned meat and pale pieces of what could only be vegetable matter.

The orc sat down beside you. “You’re welcome,” he said.

Though you didn’t want to appear rude, you were absolutely starving so you just picked up your spoon and fished out a chunk of meat. It was good. The piece fell apart between your teeth, the liquid that clung to it satisfyingly savory despite the lack of salt. You guessed that at least some of the vegetables in the stew were mushrooms and roots. Your host had even added some herbs.

Once you finished, you turned to the orc and immediately regretted the quick movement. Your entire side protested. Grimacing, you groaned.

“You should be more careful,” he said.

“I know,” you responded. “It was delicious. Thank you.”

The orc nodded. “You’re welcome.” Standing again, he refilled his bowl. “Do you want more?”

You shook your head. “I’m stuffed.”

When he returned to his seat, he just placed the bowl in front of it. “Do you want me to help you lay back down?”

“No. I want to sit for now.”

He nodded and sat back down.

You hadn’t been entirely honest: you did want to lay back down, but you also wanted to speak more to him, and your desire for conversation won out. “What’s your name?” you asked.

With a furrow of his brow, the orc gave you a sideways glance. “Gazef,” he said. “Yours?”

“(Name).”

Then, the two of you were silent again. You let him eat in peace.

“Why are you out here all alone?” you asked.

The orc side-eyed you again, and he seemed reluctant to respond.

“I’m not going to bring a troupe of angry villagers to try and kill you,” you said in a very likely failed attempt to be reassuring. “I promise,” you added, very unhelpfully.

Gazef looked like he was struggling to believe you.

“If I really want to kill you, then I would quietly lay on your bed and rest so I could get my energy back. I _am_ a witch.”

Nodding, he agreed. “You are.”

“Instead, I’m sitting instead of resting and trying to talk to you despite your very clear reluctance to talk.”

“I’m not given to trusting humans.”

“That’s fair. But I’m not fully human. If you just told the theoretical mob that I was a witch, then they would turn on me just as soon as they dispatch you. If they can.”

“Unlikely.”

“Ooo. Confident. But, considering how those wolves reacted to you, I doubt your confidence is misplaced.”

Gazef so modestly shrugged in response.

Without further direction, you just continued to ramble. “But the humans are already antsy around me since I am a woman who lives alone out in the woods, and they’ll probably think that I was conspiring with you or something paranoid. Granted, their suspicion is not misplaced since I _am_ a witch, but it’s still unpleasant to think that, despite everything my mother—when she was alive—and I had done for them, they could so easily turn on me because of something that I had no control over.”

After placing an elbow on the stone-table, the orc leaned on his arm. “You’re right. You’re clearly not plotting against me. If you were, then you wouldn’t just talk yourself into a proverbial grave.”

Gazef didn’t talk like any orc the humans had described to you. However, upon further deliberation, you decided that their conceptions of orcs were likely driven by generic human racism and close-mindedness and, as a witch and subsequently another victim of their seemingly inherited bias, you should have been more aware of the aforementioned racism before believing their, frankly, ugly depiction of orcs. 

Mentally forcing yourself back to the conversation at hand, you shrugged and then instantly regretted the movement from the bolt of pain that shot up your side. Wincing, you contorted your face into an expression of pain and released a huff.

“Alright, witch,” Gazef said, considerably more casual with you than before. “Back on the bed with you. Can you stand?” 

When you tried to put your weight on your feet, they completely refused to function. “That’s a negative.” 

With a sigh, Gazef nodded. “I was worried about that after you refused to lay back down.”

“Hey. I didn’t refuse to lay down because I couldn’t stand.” 

“Then why didn’t you want to go lay back down?”

You didn’t want to admit that you wished to engage in conversation with him. Gazef would probably realize just how lonely you were if you did. Instead of answering, you shrugged.

“Are you okay with me carrying you back to the bed?” he asked.

You nodded. Even though Gazef looked somewhat skeptical of your response, he stood, and you were instantly reminded of how enormous he was. He was enormous enough that you were almost face-to-dick with him on this admittedly low stump-chair. With the ease of lifting a sack of potatoes—and a sack of potatoes was currently how you felt, if potatoes were made of pain—the orc slid one big, muscular arm around your back and the other around the backs of your knees. He was still very shirtless. Though you couldn’t feel his skin despite all this proximity, he was so warm and solid against your arm. Your cheeks and ears grew heated at the contact. You were reminded of the way he had lifted and carried you into the cave before. It was rather hot? incredibly appealing? completely panty-soaking worthy? attractive that he was so strong and gentle with you. Even though you had just mentally compared yourself to a sack of potatoes, he definitely didn’t treat you like one. Gazef walked back over to the pile of furs, his steps so completely steady that you didn’t feel jostled in the slightest, and carefully deposited you on the furs. You paused at your visceral reaction. Upon further reflection, it really wasn’t a good sign that the moment you encountered a masculine, well-muscled, and considerate individual, you instantly got the hots for him. And bad.

Gazef looked at you once he straightened up, brows furrowed. “Are you okay there? Did you hate being carried by me so much?”

Oh goodness gracious, no! Your body was experiencing a reaction that was quite the opposite of hatred, judging from the slick that had already formed between your legs. At that moment, the orc’s nose twitched, and you were instantly reminded that he could _smell_ the magic on you. What if he could smell your arousal, as well? 

You were mortified. You couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“No. Just very tired from that whole almost-dying-to-wolves thing that happened earlier,” you said.

“Right,” Gazef responded.

He most definitely could smell _just_ how hot you were for him. 

You wanted to die. Dying to the wolves would have been pleasant compared to the sheer horror that you were currently experiencing. 

“Sleep well,” he said, turning and walking back over to the fire. He poked it with a stick. 

“Wait,” you said.

He settled on the floor before turning around. “What is it now?” he asked. But Gazef didn’t appear annoyed with you.

“Isn’t this your bed?”

“Correct.”

“And isn’t it late?”

“Also correct.”

“Shouldn’t you sleep, too?”

“I’m nocturnal, witch.”

“Right.” You forced yourself to relax. Not only did he smell just how turned on you were from him, but also he must have realized that you wanted to share a bed with him.

You needed to go to sleep before you humiliated yourself for the millionth time tonight. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Gazef said. 


	3. The Morning (Afternoon?) After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shenanigans continue!  
> Have an update!

You woke up in what was probably the late afternoon, judging from how awful and groggy you felt, only to realize that the full-body soreness that you had felt the day before was just a precursor to the actual hell that you had stumbled into.

You didn't make a noise of pain because everything was awful, and your abdominal muscles would tighten in a horrible way when you would even just commit the cardinal sin of taking a fucking breath. It was official: you would rather that the wolves ate you the night before instead of having to deal with this horrible existence. But you didn't say anything, didn't even think much beyond the pain that you were experiencing, only to wrench your eyes open when you realized that your new friend, Gazef, was no where to be found. You couldn't see him, and your neck creaked when you turned your head to look around. So, naturally, you decided to go through the incredibly arduous process of forcing your lactic acid-ful muscles to move and bend in order to force yourself to lean against the wall behind the pile of furs and hay on which you had been resting. Your entire body groaned and protested the entire time that you moved at this snail's pace, and you made pitiful whimpering noises because your whole body was in pain. As you sat up, you noticed the discoloration on the arm that you had slammed into a tree with just all of your momentum. Of course, you weren't _surprised_ that you were bruised. It was just another layer on this shit cake that was your existence. Once you were seated—though seated was a really generous way of saying that you were being propped up by a wall—you looked around the room and then very quickly realized why you hadn't seen Gazef.

At some point during the night, he had moved over to the space behind the table and, being that it was a solid chunk of rock with a flat top, you could not actually see him past it. Also, he had fallen asleep near the fire pit, which only proved your suspicion that it was the afternoon, maybe even the late afternoon.

You relaxed some, but you now felt pretty awake. Lifting your arms, you tried to cast something, even just a ball of light. Unfortunately, your mana was still very much so depleted. Your mom had warned you that you needed to expand your reservoir of mana through a combination of magical exercises and physical stamina. Well, you hadn't actually worked on the latter with the express purpose of working on it, and now you were paying the price.

Sighing, you slouched even more. 

When you looked over at the fire, you saw that the fire itself had gone out, but there was still a pile of ash and embers. The orc had likely been awake until recently. You wondered what he had been doing in that time. It's not like there was anything to do. And his options were probably limited more by your very annoying presence. You sighed again. You felt bad. You were also starting to get the impression that, perhaps, Gazef was as lonely as you. He was all alone out here—the reason why was still a mystery to you despite your earlier inquiries—and, if that interaction with the werewolves showed you anything, then it was that Gazef was not in the business of making friends with the locals.

Maybe he wouldn't be too opposed to a friendship. Or maybe you fell right into the category of 'undesirable locals,' and he would avoid you like the plague once he washed his hands of you.

You really hoped not.

Then, Gazef stirred, and you froze. He also made a really cute noise in his sleep, but you didn't have the time to dwell on it because your brain was currently at war. Part of you wanted to shimmy back down into a prone position, but the other, more logical part of you realized that your dress would probably lay funny from the up and down movement. And, obviously, shimmying down would require movement, which would be very difficult for your still very much so sore muscles. 

You cringed.

Gazef did not look like he was going to be falling back asleep. He mumbled something to himself, rubbed his eyes with his fingers, and half-opened them to look at his surroundings. Most likely, he was trying to figure out why he was on the floor instead of his bed. Then, his head lazily rolled to the right, and he was looking straight at you.

"Witch," he said simply.

"Orc," you responded in much the same tone.

He grunted and then stood. "Hungry, aren't you?" he asked.

It wasn't much of a sentence, but he just woke up so you gave him a pass. "I am," you admitted.

Instead of using words to respond, Gazef made another grunt and started fiddling with more bowls and spoons. He walked through a doorway that you had not even realized was there and returned with another helping of the stew. Walking over, he handed you the stew and then sat down on one of the stump-chairs.

"I'd make something, but it's late for me," he said.

You did like that he was rather casual with you, but you weren't sure if it was because he was comfortable around you or because he was too tired to be cautious. "That's perfectly fine. Your stew was nice," you responded before gathering a spoonful and bringing it to your mouth. Of course, the movement made the muscles in your arms creak and complain, but you were expecting it. However, before you actually ate, you looked at him. You actually thought you could hear your stomach grumble angrily at your decision. "Why didn't you just sleep on your bed?" you asked.

Gazef appeared to consider your question and then sighed before closing his eyes. Raising one hand, he made a vague movement with his fingers that you absolutely could not parse. "I didn't want you waking up, seeing me, and then deciding to zap me. Besides, floor's fine. I've had worse."

Mimicking his earlier, absolutely ridiculous impersonation of what was apparently casting a spell, you flicked your fingers in his direction. He flinched, then realized that nothing was actually coming out, but still decided to watch your hands cautiously.

"I can't access my mana," you said. "My body is still refusing to let me cast."

"Does it really work like that?" he asked.

You shrugged. "I think it's to stop myself from overdoing it and killing myself."

"That can happen?"

Nodding, you finally listened to your body and brought the spoon to your mouth. You chewed and swallowed before talking because you weren't a fucking savage—though sometimes it was tempting—but then you continued. "Yeah, dying of overcasting spells happens a lot with young witches. Less so when you know what you're doing. But I definitely felt that I overextended myself last night. And all to no avail." You frowned at the reminder that you almost died last night.

When you looked over at your orc friend, you realized that he was about to fall asleep at the table and probably fall off his chair. It was not like it had a back.

"Lay down," you said.

He made a vague noise and then opened his eyes. However, it took him a long time to focus on your face. "I'm fine," Gazef said.

"Lay. Down," you insisted.

Gazef looked past you at the very large expanse of empty bed.

"I won't do anything. I promise," you assured him.

In response, he just raised a brow. But he said nothing else, instead standing up to flop down onto his back.

When he was right beside you, you _really_ noticed just how much bigger he was than you, than any human man that you had ever seen. It was a little disconcerting, but your core grew instantly warm at the sight despite all of the pain you were currently experiencing. Gazef brought his arm up to pillow under his head, and you couldn't help but notice that, even unflexed, his muscles were enormous. Unlike you, he was most definitely keeping up his physical stamina. Your cheeks burned at the thought, and your walls clenched. Your eyes fluttered closed. Hoping that Gazef had somehow immediately fallen asleep, you directed your gaze at your lap before even opening your eyes. You brought another spoonful to your mouth and tried to focus on chewing. The stew was honestly even better now, but it was having trouble keeping your attention. You huffed out a breath.

Also, for just a moment, you could have sworn that Gazef's left eyelid fluttered just a little.

Was he still awake, aware once more about your undeniable attraction to him? You were in a fresh hell. In a fit of desperation, you closed your eyes and very consciously started chewing. After counting to forty-two, even you had to admit that the mush in your mouth was all chewed out, and you swallowed.

Well, you were going to have a fun couple of hours.

*

When you woke up again from a rather restless nap, you realized that Gazef was still very asleep and very beside you. Actually, he was a little too close. There was a whole lot of green right in front of your nose. You realized that you had moved onto your side and cuddled right up against him, made easier by the fact that he was also sleeping on his side. But, uh, yeah. You were definitely right there.

Gazef was warm. While you had been sleeping, and the fire went out completely, the cave had grown rather chilly, making you question the logic behind your new friend's fashion choices, and you had clearly sought out warmth in your sleep. Great.

Now you would have to move yourself away from him. Unfortunately, much like you suspected, moving away from Gazef was going to be a difficult task. Even just rolling onto your back made you have to choke back an exclamation of pain. And, between the fact that you had apparently spent all your time asleep on your side and your still very sore muscles, your side hurt to the point where breathing was difficult. Fortunately—maybe? you were really starting to doubt what you considered fortunate—you were familiar with the issue of sleeping too long on one side. While it was infinitely more painful than usual, you knew what to do. You had to just keep going until the pain went away. However, the amount of time that you had spent doing just that was more than enough for your new friend to wake up because he started rolling onto his back only for you make a pained whimper. He froze, then rolled back onto his side, and sleepily propped himself up with his right arm.

"What are you doing up against me?" he asked, his tone slow and voice rough from sleep.

It was, honestly, rather attractive, but your saving grace was that you were in a little too much pain and a little too humiliated to get turned on right this moment. "I don't know," you admitted as you continued to breathe slowly in an effort to get your side to stop hurting. "Woke up like this."

Gazef nodded and then sat up. At least, he seemed to believe you. He got up from his bed and started milling about.

Though you couldn't actually see him since you weren't chancing moving, you heard water being poured and then splashed. You assumed he was washing his face. It was better than the alternative. Gazef walked back into your line of sight with a piece of fabric that looked like it had seen better days, and it probably saw those better days the last time it saw a piece of soap. You didn't know if his lack of standards come from the fact that he is a man or the fact that he is an orc. It was a toss-up. You really couldn't be sure. You were just starting to rethink this whole being-attracted-to-him-thing when he interrupted by so observantly saying, "You're in no shape to head back by yourself."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," you replied.

"I'll carry you back," he said.

And though it was not a question, you instantly agreed. "Yes, please."

He might have raised that horrible rag to his face again, but you were pretty sure that, in the moment right before it touched his face again—gag—you briefly saw a smile on those horribly attractive lips of his.


	4. I Should Have Let the Wolves Eat You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I’m no expert in medieval clothing. I only did some cursory research. Please have low expectations. :,)

You were comfortably settled in your new friend’s arms as he carried you through the forest. Thankfully, he decided to wear a shirt during this excursion because, otherwise, your arm would probably stick to his torso, and you weren’t quite at the stage of such uncomfortable situations in your friendship yet. You stared at the sky as you were carried. There was no sun around, but there was light so you figured that it was about twilight.

“Do you always wake up at ass o’clock?” you asked.

Gazef raised a brow at your question.

“The sun hasn’t even set yet. I thought you were nocturnal,” you responded, your face all scrunched up and brows drawn.

He looked down at you and stared at your impertinent expression before casually saying, “I could just leave you in the middle of the forest.”

You dramatically opened your mouth until your neck reminded you that you were still sore. “You wouldn’t!”

“I would,” he said, just as casually as before.

“Rude.”

He sighed. Then he even more rudely muttered, “I should have let the wolves eat you.”

You gasped. “What did you say?”

Gazef just raised his brows and shook his head, the picture of innocence.

“I’m going to ignore your very rude statement about letting wolves eat me because you’re currently carrying me instead of abandoning me to be eaten by wolves.”

He snorted out a small laugh at your statement. “Thanks,” 

At this distance, you noticed that his canines—not just his tusks—were sharp. And then you had to spend a very long time not thinking about how it would feel for him to very gently bite down on your neck or the inside of your thighs with those teeth.

After about half an hour of being ferried around and giving Gazef instructions about where to turn—you were suddenly very glad that your mother insisted that you learn the layout of the forest when you were young—you arrived at your tiny, adorable cottage.

“That’s it?” he asked.

You looked at him, scandalized. “What do you mean, that’s it?”

“It’s.” Gazef paused, apparently trying to find the right words before completely giving up. “Very small. How did you and your mother both fit in that thing? It looks no bigger than my bed.” He looked very confused, and you would have very patronizingly pat his impressive bicep if you could move your arms without pain.

In Gazef’s defense, the outside of your cottage did appear rather quaint. The perimeter was shaped like a circle—no bigger than a ten by ten, which was still bigger than his bed, even if it wasn’t by much—and it was topped with a roof of tightly-bound straw that had a healthy collection of grass growing atop it. Where it came from, you’d never know. To sum up, your home was _quaint_ , at least from the outside. Beside the cottage was a much bigger area of fenced off land. The fence was unimpressive, composed of uneven posts stuck in the ground and connected with even more uneven planks in the nooks on the sides of the posts. The whole layout had a rustic charm. But the inside of the fence was your pride and joy: your garden. You grew a rather considerable variety of vegetables (peppers, zucchinis, green beans, tomatoes, garlic, onions, potatoes, and many more) and herbs (basil, sage, rosemary, mint, dill, thyme, lavender, and chamomile to name a few) within the confines of your fences.

Your cat meowed from atop the rightmost, corner fence post.

“Hello to you, too,” you said.

Gazef looked from you to the cat like you were both mad. The cat hopped off the fence and walked over to Gazef’s boot-clad feet, which he began to affectionately rub against and twist all around. You watched him even if it hurt your neck. 

“He seems to like you,” you casually observed. 

“Delightful,” Gazef responded.

After another few moments, you looked up at him and said. “Well. In we go. The ointment isn’t going to sprout wings and fly to me, even if I wish really hard.”

Gazef gave your cottage a wary look.

“That thing—“

“My home,” you corrected.

He continued to speak as if you said nothing. “Looks like a stiff breeze will knock it over.”

“Not everyone can live in caves.”

“At least I’m not worried that the cave will come crashing down on my head.”

You squinted at him and cocked your head. “Actually, it just might if you started yelling.”

He frowned at your assessment but then continued to stare, unimpressed, at your cottage.

“It’s much sturdier than you think,” you assured him.

With a sigh, Gazef said, “Don't get mad at me if I break the doorknob.”

You sighed, starting to get annoyed at his dogged insistence to not believe you. He was being cautious and concerned about your home instead of just going inside it like you told him, and it was tap-dancing on your nerves. You were _so close_ to being able to use your body again, and he was actively preventing you from fixing your severe muscle soreness. Willing yourself to calm down, you took a few breaths. “Please just open the door. You’ll see what I mean once you’re inside.”

Gazef remained unconvinced, but he did bring you over to the front door, which you opened yourself because he refused to do it, and it wouldn’t have opened for him, anyway. The view into your cottage from the outside revealed nothing more than an also flimsy-looking wall that hid your bed, a few chests, and a rocking chair. Also, it had a dirt floor. He looked inside, then turned his still concerned gaze on you, and checked the room again to make sure that he was, indeed, seeing what he was seeing. You watched your cat dart inside the house and promptly disappear around the side of the wall while Gazef continued to stand stock still.

“Please just go inside,” you said. You pinched your eyes despite your very sore and reluctant arm but decided that the pain was worth it. 

It turned out that Gazef was actually a little bigger than the door, if by “a little,” you meant “quite a lot.” He had to turn sideways, hunch over, and bend his knees, and he _still_ knocked his head on the top of the doorway. The only indication of any pain or discomfort was the press of his lips into a thin line.

However, when he stepped inside, the protection spell on the outside of your cottage stopped hiding what it was actually like on the inside, which was rather spacious and not at all tiny. Gazef looked around, amazed, jaw agape, as he continued to stand in the middle of your living room instead of bringing you closer to your bedroom, the location of that last batch of ointment.

“Please take your shoes off, then close the door, and take me to the door on the right,” you said.

And Gazef looked like he had just broken out of a spell—hah!—when he realized that he had just been gawping at your cottage while still holding you. “How is this possible?” he asked.

You made the same approximation of spell-casting that Gazef had made back in the cave once more. Sure, you were poking fun at him but, after that test of your patience, you felt that you were owed this one thing. He didn’t even really notice. Gazef was still too busy gawping. “Magic?” you offered.

“Right,” he said with a nod. But he then did take off his shoes on the decidedly wood floors, did nudge the decidedly solid front door closed with his foot, and did head over in the direction of your decidedly another room bedroom, all without much provocation.

Once you were inside, you directed him to your wardrobe, and you started rifling through the drawer of important things in search for the little tub. It was magically sealed so, despite being made over a year ago, it still worked. The ointment itself was also infused with magic, which considerably increased the speed with which the person healed. The one downside was that it needed to be spread on the exact area where the problem was. So you needed to take off your dress. You looked over your shoulder from the tub to Gazef.

“ _That_ ’ _s_ what you were looking for?” he asked.

“Ye of little faith.” You tisked at him.

“Well?” he asked. “How does it work?”

You didn’t want to answer him, but you opened the tub. “I have to put it on the place that needs to heal.”

For a moment, Gazef said nothing, but then he realized that _all_ of you needed to heal. He nodded but remained conspicuously silent.

“I need you to help me with my dress,” you said.

You watched as his eyes slid along your back before he very consciously blinked and looked back to you. “What do you even need my help with?” he asked.

“Taking it off,” you responded irritably without giving your words much thought. 

Neither of you said anything else.

You were currently wearing a very simple combination of white undertunic that ended just before your feet and a blue, under-bust, sleeveless tunic that tied in front of your torso and ended at about the length of your shin. And while it wasn’t the most complicated outfit you had ever seen, you were still going to need Gazef’s help taking it off because your arms could not actually reach high enough to remove your own clothing. You had tried lifting them above your elbow at some point in the day, and it did not work very well.

After wobbling to your feet and needing to rely on the wardrobe to help you up, you had to take a break to catch your breath. Leaning against the wardrobe, you started to undo the strings holding your tunic against your body, and you noticed Gazef turn away from you the second you began.

“Have you never seen a woman naked?” you snapped.

“I have,” he said just as peevishly over his shoulder.

“Then stop acting like a boy and help me with this fucking dress.” 

It was bad enough that you had to ask him for help with _removing your clothing_. You didn’t need him acting prepubescent about it. 

You heard a huff of breath, but Gazef did turn to face you. However, you definitely avoided his eyes, which was, unsurprisingly, very easy since he was much taller than you. Once you undid the ties, you shoved at the shoulders of your tunic and tugged it down until it was in a heap around your feet. Now came the hard part. You turned around, but you heard Gazef step forward. While you didn’t know if he was actually looking at you or still channeling his inner, prepubescent boy, you did feel his fingers brush your thighs as he lifted the undertunic from your body. It was a bit snug around your hips so you couldn’t exactly blame him, especially when he very clearly tried to stay away from actually touching your body after that incident. You were glad indeed for the braies covering your buttocks and the fabric wrapped around your chest. Of course, the real problem came when you had to lift your arms to take them out of sleeves. You tried to not groan from the pain, but you failed a few times. 

Once you were devoid of your clothing, you heard Gazef step away. He deposited your tunic on your bed before heading for the door to your bedroom. You stared at your wardrobe door until he was gone, and then you finally let yourself take a deep breath. After a rather painful wobble to your bed, you sat down and started the slow and achy process of applying the ointment to most of your body. It took you longer than you would have liked but, once you were done, you could move without pain, and it was more than you could say for the last almost twenty-four hours. 

Dressed again, you walked out of your bedroom to the sight of Gazef with his back turned to you and facing the bookshelves. You knew exactly at what he was looking. So, when you approached him, you were able to prepare yourself for the sight of the pictures. For the most part, your mom had quite the collection of books, which was uncommon for the time and the general level of illiteracy among the common folk. But you and your mom weren't exactly common folk. She had taught you to read when you were a child because she had only learned when she was an adult. During the adventures of her younger years, your mom had collected many a book; however, the books were all related to magic or brewing potions or summoning demons. It was all real exciting stuff, and you had read everything by the time you were twenty. You just always wished that there were also a few stories among the instructional books. But you knew that Gazef wasn't looking at the books. You didn't even know if he could read. What he was looking at was a particular shelf, the only one that was devoid of books. It wasn't exactly empty: it held four, simple, wooden picture frames. The pictures all featured the same two people, you and your mom, and they were each about seven years apart. The first had you as a concerned-looking toddler in her arms; the second was of you, now a child, holding your mom’s hand and grinning; the third featured you as a teenager appearing slightly embarrassed and awkwardly standing beside your mom as she wrapped a hand around your shoulders and pulled you close; and the last was the most recent, taken only a year ago, of you as a young woman with your arms around your mom’s shoulders. Though you changed drastically from one image to the other, your mother stayed the same: wrinkled and gray. 

But Gazef wasn’t looking at them so closely because they featured the two of you. He was trying to understand how in the world those pictures were _moving_. Each picture captured about ten seconds of your life with her.

“How do they work?” he asked. After a second thought, he added, “And don’t tell me ‘magic.’ I know it’s magic.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. My mom’s friend was the one who made them, and she didn’t like sharing her secrets. My mom said that she didn’t think much of her gimmicks until she had me. Then she wanted to capture what I looked like at each stage. Of course, Ellebury—the witch who makes these—only came every seven years. And she’d barter them for my mom’s medicines and ointments. My mom was the best healer around. Even the other witches came to her.”

“Wait.” Gazef paused. “The woman in those pictures is your mother?”

You nodded.

He cocked his head but said nothing else. You knew why he was making the face.

“Well, she isn’t my _birth_ mother. But she raised me. So that’s what I call her.”

Nodding, Gazef didn’t say anything for another, few moments. "Do you know what happened to your birth parents? If you don't mind me asking."

You sighed. "Uh, they died when I was little. Around the time of that first picture." You pointed to the one of you as a toddler. "From what my mom said, the house burned down, but my parents put a protection spell around me to hide me from the fire."

As you spoke, Gazef looked at you, confused. However, his confusion went away fairly quickly. "Someone burned the house down."

"And probably stood outside, waiting to make sure they died," you added. "So they hid me and sent out a message to any nearby witches. It was a gamble, but someone found me and then summoned the others." You turned to him. "I don't know how much you know about witches, but they tend to be pretty solitary. We all belong to one coven and can communicate with one another, but we don't usually spend much time together."

Gazef watched you, apparently very interested in your story.

"Anyway, my mom offered to take me in and raise me. No one else wanted the burden of a child. So they didn't disagree." You paused. It felt strange to recount a story about yourself that you didn't remember. "And so she did. She was a good mom," you told him. 

His expression grew very serious, and you noticed a sloping of his shoulders.

Banishing the funk into which you were about to fall, you instead said, "Come with me!" Then you turned around and headed for the kitchen. Remembering that you were about to go outside, you looked over your shoulder and added, "Take your shoes."

Gazef looked somewhat confused, but you heard him follow. At the back of the kitchen, there was another door, and you had a pair of shoes standing beside it. After you slipped them on, you opened the door and went outside. The fenced area beside your little cottage was not that little, itself. It was also filled with small patches of land that contained one or two types of vegetables, just to keep everything neat and organized. Beyond the garden was a copse of fruit trees: apple trees, apricot trees, pear trees, and cherry trees (your mother had done quite a bit of traveling in her youth to collect the seeds). The trees were older than you and only still producing fruit because of the magical help that you gave them. And, all the way to the left of the garden was a pen with some livestock: two cows, four chickens, and six sheep. But you didn't head into the garden just yet, instead walking along the side of the house until you reached a little shed. Inside the shed, you took out a fairly large basket. Gazef finally had a chance to catch up to you.

He looked like he was having trouble understanding how all of the things and animals out here didn't even slightly register from outside of the cottage or the fenced area.

Though Gazef didn't ask you _how_ the spell worked—likely because he thought you would just give him a non-answer again—his facial expression was more than enough to let you know that he didn't understand, and it made him uncomfortable. And really, the answer was pretty simple: your home just had layers upon layers of spells and enchantments that made your home appear uninteresting to the casual observer. It was just a very clever combination of hiding the pens and the trees, and also interfering with the depth perception of the viewer when they stood outside of the cottage and land to make it appear smaller. Oh, you almost forgot about the illusion. Your mom had also weaved an illusion in the doorway just in case the door happened to be open when someone was outside. The doorknob itself had a spell on the outside half that didn't allow anyone to open it but the inhabitants of the house, namely you and your mom. For anyone else, the doorknob would just refuse to move. She had been a very talented witch.

While Gazef didn't say anything to you, he did follow you around as you made your way around the garden, picking ripe vegetables and fruits. He said nothing as you crouched down and tugged carrots and potatoes out of the ground, or picked tomatoes and peppers. But he did politely hold the basket in arm's reach while you picked the fruits from the trees. 

Once you were back in the house, Gazef followed you inside. He very politely took off his shoes before he sat down at the kitchen table and started contemplating his existence. And, while he did that, you made some tea for the two of you.

"Are you okay?" you asked as you placed a mug in front of him.

Looking up at you, Gazef asked, "How are you okay? You could barely sit up by yourself earlier."

You shrugged. "I told you. Magic ointment." Sitting down across from your new friend, you took a sip of tea. 

He sighed. "My tribe had shamans. But nothing like this." He waved his hands at the surrounding cabin and then at you. It was somewhat rude.

"Are you jealous?" you asked with a smirk.

Narrowing his eyes, Gazef said, "No. We don't need your human tricks."

You shrugged again. "Sounds to me like you're jealous."

Though Gazef said nothing else, he did drink the tea you made. Once he was done, he stood up. "I think that I should get going."

You had to admit—to yourself, not him—that you felt a little disappointed at his words. "Okay," was your response.

Gazef walked over to the door and, after picking up the basket, you followed him. He was about to head outside when you offered the basket laden with food to him.

"What is this?" he asked.

"A gift. For all your help," you said. You immediately felt awkward, especially with the way he kept looking at you, perplexed, like this situation was weird. 

"I didn't help you to get a reward," Gazef said.

"I know," you responded. "But I wanted to say thanks."

He didn't have much of an answer in response. Instead, Gazef just nodded and took the basket. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," you said. Though you did have something else that you wanted to say to him, you couldn't help but feel awkward, especially after the way he reacted to your gift. "Uh," you said to yourself, rather dumbly, before saying, "Would you mind terribly if I came by? Just to say hi?"

Gazef somehow looked even more confused, which made sense. He probably didn't have many experiences with humans popping in to say hi—at least, not good ones. Then he sighed and said, "Sure. Go ahead."

You grinned. "Then see you around. Orc."

"See you around, witch," he responded. Then he opened the door and walked out into the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> My shit writing accounts for the majority of the Gazef Stronoff/Reader tag. I will personally populate it if I have to. 😤😤😤


End file.
